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according2thelore · 11 months

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The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The best part happens when Sammy takes his first tottering steps towards Dean. It happens when the first word out of his mouth, when Dad is sloppy drunk on the couch watching a football game that Dad can’t count the points for, is a frantic and excited “Dee-n” as he stacks the pile of blocks correctly on rough, scratchy motel carpet.

The best part happens when Sammy scrapes his knee at a soccer game and runs straight to Dean—not Dad—and he see the look in Dad’s eye as Dean wipes the tears from his ruddy cheeks. Dean’s the one that Sam wants, he’s the most important one here. His is the neck that Sam’ll wail into, until Dad pries him away.

Sam needs Dean to teach him how to throw a punch in a dirt-lot in Mobile, Sam needs Dean to reset his dislocated shoulders, he needs him to buy ice cream and save up to buy him toy trucks and pack his lunches so Sam can have food that he likes in schools that he doesn’t. He needs Dean to curl into to fall asleep until Dad suddenly decides that that’s pussy-shit and drag a scream-sobbing Sam away to his own bed.

He needs Dean to tie his shoelaces and cuff his jeans and press a kiss to his forehead. He needs Dean’s old clothing, needs Dean to take him to soccer practice and clap louder than any parent at every single school play, whistling so loud that a few people duck. He needs Dean to embarrass him in front of girlfriends, needs Dean to lend him sweatshirts that Sam can fall asleep with his nose tucked into, eyes sliding closed contented and sun-warm in the Impala’s passenger seat. When Sam’s scared, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s upset, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s happy, over the heads of people in school cafeterias and in hallways and sprinting at him across graveyards, he turns to Dean first. In the middle of a hunt—and Dean has no idea if Sam knows he does it—Sam goes Dean, Dean, Dean under his breath when things start to turn south, like Sam can summon him, like the idea of Dean can keep monsters away.

Sam needs Dean because in the winter, his nose starts to get cold first, since it slopes down and away from his face. He liked tucking it under Dean’s jaw when they shared a bed as children, and currently likes shoving his icicle feet under Dean’s thigh when they sit on couches together. He calls Dean a human furnace, but Dean’s secret is he has regularly proportioned limbs. Sam’s too damn big to give circulation to his freak feet, so Dean keeps “finding” pairs of woolen socks that he slips into Sam’s laundry when he’s not looking.

Sam needs Dean for his Blockbuster card (good in all fifty states, fuck yeah) registered under John McClane that the acne-ridden counter guy issued Dean with a raised brow. Sam likes M&Ms in his popcorn because he’s clinically insane, and Dean buys them liter bottles of pop that they can trade lazily back and forth because they can’t afford more than one individual bottle.

Sam needs Dean to take him out when they get to wherever they go next. Sam likes going to the movies and hates hiking and loves public libraries. He leans into Dean, no matter how old he gets, in the darkness of a movie theater, presses his foot against Dean’s under the table at diners, lets Dean throw his arm around him while Dean chats up girls at a public pool, like he’s afraid if Dean’s not touching him, either of them might snap out of existence.

Who else will adore this kid like he does? No one. No one could.

The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The worst part happens when Dean uses his body as a shield to protect Dad or Sam or both from barely restrained blows. It happens when Dean lets Sam rant and rave, when Dean talks Sam off a ledge, steps outside to talk Dad from pushing Sam off a ledge, lets him spit venom about Sam right back. The worst part is being the depository for their hatred and their tempers and their love.

The betrayal in Sam’s eyes when Dean tries to calm him down guts him. The anger in Dad’s eyes when Dean tells him Sam means well is a blow to the skull.

Loyalty to either is a betrayal to both and Dean is sixteen.

Dean is sixteen and he’s got pimples and his bones hurt and Dad won’t stop screaming. Dean is sixteen and Sam won’t look at him most days for choosing Dad, as if Dean is physically capable of choosing anything other than the boy that planted his roots in Dean’s bones instead, when Dean had to prune them from Sacramento and Knoxville and Tampa.

Sam needs him.

Sam needs him to be in the middle because they need a father.

The worst part is when Sam needs twelve dollars to go on this field trip to the museum that he’s been looking forward to because they’ve been in town long enough to look forward to something. Dean has just spent his last cents at a bar the night before because he’s sixteen and he’s scared, and he’s lonely because Cindy at the bar last night was the first not-Sam person Dean had spent longer than two sentences with in three weeks and four days. The worst part is that look in his eyes, and Dean smiles and plays along to the dumb-drunk-older-brother thing, because if Dean says that he spent the money because he’s miserable and dependent and scared, Sam will—Sam—Dean doesn’t know what Sam’ll do. Dean has never let Sam be that uncertain yet.

The worst part is having nightmares into his pillow, burying his grief and his tears in the motel sink at four a.m. because Sammy is sleeping in the other bed.

The worst part is being fourteen and Dad hasn’t been back in a few weeks and the twenty bucks on the table evaporated a few days ago.

The worst part is being fourteen.

The worst part is having to make a shelter out of his ribcage, out of slow smirks and lit cigarettes drooping from drunk men’s fingers, of sweaty, crumpled bills passing over a long-haul truck’s driver’s seat. The worst part trading those bills for Slim Jims and Kraft mac and cheese and marshmallow creme to make it seem like more food than it is, the look that the till girl gives him when she sees phone numbers written over Lincoln’s face.

The worst part is being seventeen, and something’s got to give, so Dad looks at Dean. Dean’s going to give—of course Dean is going to give, because it can’t be Sam. Sam loves school, needs it—needs other people in a way Dean has trained himself not to want. So Dean drops out of high school in senior year, so Dad’ll stop picking fights with Sam about needing a hunting partner, so why doesn’t Sam just stop going to school?

Dean thinks the worst thing he thought about Dad to that point while he avoids eye contact with the guidance counsellor when he tells him the news. I want to drop out, Dean says, because he has to end it for Sam. What does school have for him anyway? Kids that’ll never understand him? A GED that he’ll never need? Dean hates feeling stupid, hates kids laughing at him behind his back because he had to move when they learned how to do times tables and he doesn’t know what seven times nine is. He hates the prickle of inferiority.

But Dean thinks: I am the one you created to love you. He is the one you created to hate you. You need both of us. But you only care about one. You crave the challenge of winning—even love, even your son. I never won your approval, so what was it worth?

Dean banishes it as soon as he thinks it, goddamn horrified. That’s awful. It’s ridiculous. It’s pussy shit, is what it is. Dad’s right. Dad’s good. (Dad is right. Dad has to be right, has to be infallible, because in twelve years after Dean has left his eighth teary voicemail to a dead phone line after Sammy starts throwing up after his visions, after he stops eating because he sleeps in blood now it drips from his fingers, he will start to realize and it will undo him—What has it been for? If Dad’s not right—If Dad’s not good—then what is Dean? What has Dean torn up Sam’s roots for? What has Dean lost girlfriends and childhood memories and prom and almost lost limbs for? Dean has ripped himself apart and put himself back together so John Winchester can be right. If he’s not right, then Dean is misshapen for nothing.)

The worst part is being nineteen.

The worst part is the fact that Sam hates him anyway. That Sam rages against the bars of Dean’s ribcage because it might keep the rain off but God, who would want to be trapped next to this heart?

It bangs and slams all hours of the day, and it’s so goddamn hollow—even worse, it’s not hollow at all, it’s just SamSamSamSam—it’s just Sam’s long limbs and fox-slanted eyes and the mole to the left of his nose and the way he snorts when he’s trying not to laugh and the way his mouth looks after he gnaws on it and the way he tries to lick ice cream off his own nose, the way his face looks slack in sleep, the way he’s moulded himself to fit Dean a little, too.

His heart is sickening. It’s rotting, it’s metastasizing the air that Sam needs to breathe.

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him. And Dean’s not enough.

The very worst part though, the part that makes Dean eye his pistol sidelong as Sam’s back gets smaller and smaller as he walks away with his duffle bag over his shoulder and he knows—he knows, that at the end of this, Sam will never turn back, it will be Dean on his hands and knees, begging Sammy to come back, Sam will never look at him again if he’s given the chance to look away—

The very worst part about being Dean Winchester, is that Dean needs Sam more than Sam will ever need him.

crossposted on ao3 here

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #samdean #fanfic #codependency #lizzy writes

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cryptid-quest · 3 months

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Cryptid of the Day: Mobile Wolfwoman

Description: On April 8, 1971, the Press-Register reported that nearly 50 people called in claiming to have seen & chased off a wicked creature, a wolf with the head of a woman. Police were called & most sightings happened around Davis Avenue. These sightings happened around April Fool’s Day.

#cryptid #cryptids #cryptozoology #cryptid of the day #cryptid quest #mobile wolfwoman

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shuadotcom · 1 year

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Irresistible | KMG (M)

Summary: You love Mingyu's hands and arms, especially when he holds you and touches you in the most sinful way.

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x Afab!Reader

Genres & AUs: Smut, pwp, established relationship au

Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

Warnings: Fingering, a little dirty talk, body worship? (mc is in love with Mingyu’s hands and arms), public sex, outdoor sex (they’re in the woods 0/10 would recommend), pet names (sweetheart, baby)

Words: 1.2k

Note: A little drabble thingy I wrote in a few hours for Mingyu’s birthday! It’s not beta’d so please don’t tell me about the typos bc I’ll probably find them in like 6 months when I decide to randomly reread it lol. It’s also my first time writing a fic completely on mobile and posting on the app (very annoying btw 😒). I also have a different Gyu fic that I finished that I want to get beta’d before I post - hopefully in the next day or so! It’s a little fluff moment though and not like whatever this horny shit is lol.

Net tag: @kflixnet

Mingyu’s hands are one of your favorite things about him (and yes it’s a very extensive list). His hands are so pretty and always so warm. The pads of his fingers are calloused in the best way but also always so soft.

He’s an expert at holding your hands and loves linking his fingers through yours and rubbing circles into your skin. You love watching him use his hands. Whether it’s when he cooks and you admire the skilled way he handles knives and chopsticks, or when he’s typing on his computer or phone and you watch how his nimble fingers glide over the keyboard and screen.

You love when he’s gripping something, especially something heavy, and you get to see the veins under the skin of his hands bulge, muscles stretching and flexing, reminiscent of pathways on a map; a map that trails all the way up his forearms to his biceps. His bulky, sculpted, wonderful biceps.

Those are a favorite of yours too.

You know he truly puts in the work to make them as big and defined as they are and you appreciate the hell out of him for it. You appreciate how safe and sound you always feel when he traps you in those arms in a hug, holding you like the most precious piece of glass. The limbs are so sturdy, so easy to naturally grab onto when you’re out in the world, relishing in the jealous looks people give you because you’re the one clinging to him, digging your nails lightly into the arms of the Greek god you get to call your boyfriend. If it was up to you, Mingyu would wear nothing but sleeveless shirts and tank tops.

Just like the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing today. It’s black and soft between your fingers as you cling to it like a lifeline. His hands you obsess over so much are doing another thing you love - grabbing at your sweaty, bare skin.

His right-hand grips the leg you’ve thrown around his waist, helping to keep you upright and keep you balanced. His left hand is covered in your sticky wetness as he drags his index finger in and out of your eager cunt.

The bark of the oak tree you’re pressed against digs into your back through your shirt and your jeans are dangerously close to falling off the leg that dangles in his hold, but you barely register it as Mingyu’s finger brushes your g-spot.

“Fuck! Gyu…”

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

Your bottom lip, already red and raw from how hard he kissed you earlier and how much you’ve been gnawing at it, is between your teeth again and you nod in response.

You’ve lost count of how long he’s been teasing you and drawing out this pleasure. It’s been at least fifteen minutes maybe. Definitely too long to be doing this behind a cluster of trees in the park in the middle of the day while your friends wait for you a few feet away.

“I can’t help it, you look so fucking good,” he grumbled into your ear as he crowded you against a tree.

“I’m wearing such a normal outfit!” You giggled, but it was short-lived when he attached his lips to your neck and began sucking on the skin.

“That’s how much you drive me crazy. You’re fucking irresistible.”

“B-but we’re supposed to be getting th-the drinks from the car.” You could barely get the sentence out as Mingyu’s wide hand reached up, grabbing a handful of one of your breasts through your shirt.

“The drinks can wait. Wanna make you cum first.”

He had said that what seems like forever ago, and he’s been doing the exact opposite. Mingyu alternates between lazily rubbing at your clit with his thumb and fucking you with one finger, bringing you so close but not giving you enough to tip you over the edge.

“Gyu, please,” you breathe out, holding in a moan that wants so badly to tumble out. Your ears pick up the sounds all around you - the sound of voices, the rustling of the trees, a dog barking in the distance, and the obscene squelching of your juices as Mingyu shoves a second thick finger into you.

“Hmm, I suppose I should let you cum. People may come looking for us.” He’s almost noncommittal with his words, still only fingering you with minimal effort.

“Please, please, please,” you babble as your fingers grab at his shirt so hard that you’re sure it’ll be wrinkled once you’re done.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please, let me cum, Gyu, please!” You’re desperate and punctuate your whimpers with open mouth kisses on his chiseled jaw.

Your boyfriend gives you a devious smirk and you can nearly hear the gears in his head turning, deciding if he wants to keep teasing you or not. Mingyu seems to take pity on you though as he readjusts your leg around him, hiking it higher. Your eyes rake over the prominent veins in his biceps, the skin looking as smooth and tan as always.

Then he’s drawing his other arm back and starts thrusting his fingers into you so quickly it takes your breath away. Your hands fly to his shoulders, grasping onto him for dear life as Mingyu pistons his fingers in and out, curling the tips perfectly.

“Ohhh fuck, like that, fuck!” The words leave your mouth in between more moans of his name, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach.

“Gonna make a mess all over my fingers, baby? Gonna let go for me right here with all these people around?”

A mix of words that you can’t understand comes out of you. He adds a third finger at some point, making your eyes roll back at the delicious burn of the stretch. Mingyu’s thumb rubs against your clit roughly, the pressure being exactly what you need.

He knows you so well and always knows when you’re about to release, so Mingyu brings his mouth to yours, capturing your lips and sticking his tongue into your mouth as you reach your peak. He swallows up your cries of his name as your body shakes in his hold, the tree bark scratching against your exposed skin where your shirt has risen up your back.

Your lips stay locked as you messily make out with him, his digits slowing down to let you ride out the rest of your orgasm.

Eventually, he pulls away and you let out puffs of air that turn into whines of protest when the stimulation from his fingers becomes too much.

Mingyu eases his fingers out of you and holds your gaze as he pops them into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean and groans.

“So sweet. My favorite flavor.” If your skin wasn’t already ablaze, you know you’d be burning up due to his little show.

Mingyu gently lowers your leg and leans down to help you steady your weak body. He gingerly lifts your leg to put it back through your underwear and jeans, even wiggling the denim up your legs and fastening the button for you.

He brings his right hand up, brushing some of your sweaty hair back and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Now, let’s go get those drinks!” He flashes you his signature wide, puppy smile before lacing his perfect fingers with yours and carrying on with your original goal as if he hadn’t just had those same fingers knuckle-deep in your pussy.

Not that you’re mad about it of course.

#kflixnet #wkcnet #thekpopuniverse #kbookshelf #kvanity #kim mingyu #kim mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic

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iliektehhaxs · 8 months

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hi, can I request headcanons for boys from ff16 when they are jealous of their lovers? I really like your headcanons so much, thanks for it!!❤️

This took me so long to do, I don’t have access to a computer rn so I had to type this on my phone, super weird experience. Anyway, hope you enjoy and I hope mobile doesn’t screw up the formatting! 🙏

Clive Rosfield

He tries to keep it inside but he’s not subtle at all. He’s in a foul mood, doesn’t respond like he normally would and gives you one word answers. He never takes his anger out on you, but watching strangers hit on you just makes him upset. (He’s NOT jealous, he’s just protective.) Trusts you but not other men.

You’re an attractive woman, he tells you as such every day, but to see men flock to you is a different story.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen a pretty lass like you around here.”

You’re far too kind for your own good, entertaining their questions while Clive stands aside and brews in his annoyance. An ugly feeling rises through him as he watches the scene unfold, and his legs carry him without warning when one of them asks you if you have a man waiting for you at home.

Before you can answer Clive stands behind you, chest puffed out. “Yes, she does.”

The mans face contorts from laid-back to frightful, taking his leave at the sight of the much larger man at your side. You can’t help but laugh when you turn to meet his gaze, his eyes softening at the sight of you.

“Someone’s jealous.” You tease, smiling as you do. He doesn’t answer right away, leaning over you and placing his hands at your sides.

A smirk graces his features as he speaks.

“Jealous? You must be mistaken.” He rumbles. “That would imply he had a chance to begin with.”

Joshua Rosfield

He gets pouty, makes it known that he doesn’t approve but you make sure to calm him down, hold him close and reassure him that you’re not leaving his side, not now and not ever.

Perhaps a bit insecure, he can’t help but get upset at the latest man to try and vie for your affection. You shoo him away, but the amount of times you’ve had to do so makes him worried. What if one day you don’t send them away?

You walk over and see Joshua deep in thought, following his eyes they’re trained on the young man who was just talking to you.

You know him far better than anyone else, so when your eyes follow his line of sight it’s no surprise to you what your boyfriend is thinking.

You take his hand in your own as reassurance. “Joshua, you know you don’t have to worry, right?”

Your voice drags him from his thoughts. “I know love.”

His words and his body convey a different message, still staring off at the fleeting visage of the young man.

Sighing, with a shake of your head you open your arms, inviting him in for a gentle hug that he gladly takes. It’s as if the stress leaves his body the moment you hold him tight.

“I’m not going anywhere baby, that’s a promise.”

Cidolfus Telamon

Rarely gets jealous, but on the off chance he does it’s very obvious, and he doesn’t try to hide it either.

You and your fellow bearers are celebrating a job well done at Martha’s Keep, with Cid close by you, sharing in the merriment. When his glass runs empty he leaves you to go ask for a refill, in which time a young man takes his place next to you.

You two chat about nothing really, idle conversation, but you do talk for a while, which was enough for Cid to bring himself close to you as you spoke.

“Darling, you didn’t tell me you made a new friend while I was gone.” He says in a deep voice before turning his attention towards the young man.

A hand at your hips pulls you closer into his warm body, suddenly very aware that you are in public and Cid is currently pressing himself against your back.

The two men make idle chatter, none of which you register, too focused on the small circles he draws against your skin, and the low rumble of his voice beside your ear.

Deep in conversation, he pulls up a seat, and then pulls you into his lap in a smooth motion. You squeal in shock, and the young man seems more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. After a while he excuses himself, leaving as Cid waves him away.

“Gone so soon? Such a shame, he was nice to talk to.” He says to you, not apologetic in the slightest.

You roll your eyes and lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I never took you for the jealous type.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek in response. “You bring out the worst in me darling. Take it as a compliment.”

Barnabas Tharmr

Lord help anyone who even so much as looks at you, much less tries to talk to you. He is very possessive, and if you’re in a relationship with him know that he will protect you from anyone and anything.

You’ve enjoyed the ball so far, indulging in the tasteful wines and elegant music. Your husband is not with you, but he is close by. Even though he is not one for celebration, he enjoys the sight of you happy.

Your mood is then soured by an older man, flushed and slightly swaying. It’s clear that he’s had far too much to drink.

There’s a crooked smile on his face as he makes his way to you, introducing himself as Lord…something or other. You don’t bother to pay attention as he rambles, most of it unrecognizable under his liquor-borne accent. You try to tell him kindly that you have a husband, that he wouldn’t like you talking to him, but he’s far too deep in his glass to pay your warnings any mind.

Barnabas catches a glimpse from the corner of his eye, ever watchful of his most prized possession, and the sight irritates him. But a drunk fool is little cause for concern, so he does nothing.

It’s only when the man gets bold enough to place a hand on your shoulder do you see, or rather feel Barnabas’s reaction, almost as if the room has grown several degrees colder. He slowly steps towards you, a welcome sight to your sore eyes. Immediately the other man backs away, looks between the two of you and slowly pieces together why the king is suddenly doting on you.

He apologizes, bows his head and runs away with his tail between his legs. Barnabas only smiles at his retreating figure, and makes no move to follow.

The moment he leaves the air is somewhat calm again, but you know your husband far better than to assume he would forgive and forget.

You kiss his cheek tenderly before speaking. “He was drunk. I’m fine.”

There's a rumble of appreciation from the warden of darkness before he replies. “He dared touch you.”

His hand moves over your shoulder, the same spot where the nobleman's hand formerly laid and his eyes darken. “Dared to lay his hands on my queen, my wife.”

His tone becomes more and more sinister the longer he speaks about the man, eerily calm. “What kind of husband would I be to let him walk away freely?”

“I am fine.” you reiterate. A hand at his chest and the anger leaves his face in an instant. “You will not hurt him. Are we clear?”

As much as you loved his possessive nature, you’d rather not make a scene tonight.

A sigh, his eyes fall to you as he relents. “Only because you asked nicely.”

Gav

Almost confrontational in a way, if he sees you getting flirted with he doesn’t hesitate to pull you close and tell the guy to fuck off. He’s very proud that you’re in a relationship with him, and isn’t afraid to show that in the slightest. He’s also a bit of a drama queen.

You’re in the markets buying some supplies for the hideaway when a salesman whistles for your attention. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his behavior before turning around, the man gesturing to his wares.

“All exclusive, very rare herbs and essentials darling.” He says, and the nickname makes your stomach turn. Only one man is allowed to call you that.

Ignoring him, you notice that he actually has a few items you need, albeit a bit overpriced. When you ask, he gives you a smirk and leans closer, and you instinctively lean farther back.

“For a pretty lady such as yourself, I’d be willing to give you a discount,” he drawls, taking the time to look you up and down.

Your eye twitches. You get ready to leave but a familiar head of blonde quickly moves between you and the salesman.

“Piss off!” Gav yells, giving him a nasty look as he pulls you away. “She’s not interested, yeah? Go find some other poor sod to harass.”

They throw various insults between each other, each one worse than the one before. You have to sit back and admire the display, Gav sure can be creative when it comes to cursing. At one point he called the salesman a “morbol-breathed wanker” and you nearly lost it.

Eventually you manage to pull him away before the guards are called, and only when you two are far enough away does he show his concern.

“He didn’t try anything did he?” He asks in a thick accent. “ ‘m sorry lovie, I was gone for a second—”

A smile spreads across your face, kissing him into silence. He reciprocates instantly, still holding onto your waist when you pull away.

“Don’t be sorry for defending me, okay? But I think maybe we should get going now before the guards come looking.”

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as the two of you make your way to the docks. “I’d fight him for you, y’know that?”

“Of course darling, I know,” you laugh, his own mixing with yours. “But let’s try not to get arrested, okay?”

#robo writes #ask #final fantasy xvi #Clive Rosfield #clive rosfield fluff #Joshua Rosfield #joshua rosfield fluff #Cidolfus Telamon #cidolfus telamon fluff #barnabas tharmr #barnabas tharmr fluff #gav #ffxvi gav #hoping praying this shows up well on desktop because tumblr mobile is well #hell

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 8 months

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Something There (Chapter 9)

7.1k words Roy Kent x Reader Warnings: Language, moment of violence (yay!), one scene of angst, lots of fluff and buildup A/N: Okay now THIS is my favorite chapter! I listened to Taylor's 'Daylight' for most of this, highly recommend 😘

Series Masterlist

He wasn’t letting go of her. Not this time.

Roy squeezed her tight, letting his cheek rest on her hair, the hair that smelled like fucking lavender and vanilla and was just as soft as he remembered. She felt good, pressed close to his heart like this. Right. Like she belonged there. The way she clung to him, trembling ever so slightly, told him that she was thinking the same thing.

Saying something would break the spell. So, Roy kept his mouth shut, wishing they could stay here, in this little office with its humming air conditioning and fluorescent lights, and forget about reporters and tabloids and non-boyfriends and hell, even forget about football. All he wanted was right there, in his arms, clutching to him like he was a life preserver in a storm.

But of course, staying frozen like this forever wasn’t a real option.

The sound of someone walking through the Greyhounds office had them releasing each other, not quite stepping away, as if they couldn’t bear parting, not quite yet.

Ted stood in the doorway, mouth open and eyebrows raised, glancing from one manager to the other. “I, uh, just wanted to see how you’re doin’,” he finally said, nodding to Buck. “That was a hell of a press conference, Coach.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, wiping her damp face; Roy realized she’d been crying into his shoulder. “I’m, uh, pretty tired. Should be heading home.”

Ted nodded, his face telling Roy he was sorry for interrupting. “Yeah, you get some rest. You deserve a good night’s sleep.” He offered a small wave. “Goodnight, coaches.”

Both managers mumbled their goodbyes to Ted before turning back to each other.

“I should go home,” she finally repeated, taking a step backwards to her desk, where her things were waiting to be packed up.

Roy nodded, suddenly unsure about what to do with his hands if they weren’t holding her. “Yeah, yeah. But listen-” He cleared his throat, eyes on the ceiling. “You… deserve to celebrate. Taking first place, the press conference, surviving all the shit we’ve been through. Maybe next week, when you’re up for it, I could… buy you a beer or something?”

When he forced himself to look at her, the corners of her red lips were tugging upwards. “Yeah. I’d like that, Kent.”

Before he could say anything else, his mobile vibrated in his pocket, further breaking the spell. He pulled it out, only vaguely registering the name on the screen.

“Answer it,” she hummed, starting to pack up her bag. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Roy nodded and started backing into his own office. “See you later.” He turned, answering his mobile as he walked through his office, into the changing room. “Hello?”

“Roy.” Trent’s voice was that serious tone he often used. “I, uh, got that information you asked for.”

Oh, shit. “Right, right. Anything… interesting?” he glanced over his shoulder as he entered the empty hallway, making sure he was alone.

Trent’s sigh sounded tired. “Oh, it’s interesting, alright,” he muttered dryly. “So, the photos were taken, but they weren’t going to be released. Keeley had done a good job convincing The Richmond Star to sit on them.”

“The fucking Richmond Star?” Roy’s chest tightened; he knew that paper.

“Yeah.” Trent paused. “They were going to just ignore them until… one of their reporters saw them. And gave them to another publication.”

Roy stopped in the middle of the hallway, ready to punch a wall. “Any idea who the reporter might’ve been?”

The hesitation on Trent’s end gave Roy his answer before the writer even spoke. “George Willows.”

“FUCK!”

Trent cleared his throat. “Figured you’d feel that way,” he hummed. He sighed. “I hate that it’s him. She’s… she’s lovely. She doesn’t deserve that.” The next pause was heavy. “Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Gotta… gotta think.” He let out a low, growling sigh. “Thanks, Trent. Really.”

“Good luck, Roy.”

Keeley had, thankfully, forgiven me for going off-script. On the contrary, she thought my rant was brilliant and long overdue. Rebecca, while concerned about the language and the reaction from shareholders, was proud of me.

After a the most light-hearted practice the Whippets had had in weeks, I found myself in my office, going over the report on our next opponent, determined to keep our first-place status.

“Hi there, Coach.” Ted Lasso stood in the doorway, smile on his face. “How was training today?”

“Good,” I chirped, waving him in. “Anything I can do for you, Ted?”

He shrugged and leaned on my desk. “Just didn’t get to chat last night.” His eyes searched my face curiously. “Sorry for, uh, interrupting.”

My face went warm. “It’s fine,” I murmured, looking down at my report. “We were just-”

“No need to explain,” he assured me, clearly trying not to grin goofily. “It was an emotional night for ya. For Roy too.” He raised his eyebrows. “The two of you… deserve something good. Some happiness.”

“The two of us,” I repeated with a little cough. “I mean-”

Ted placed his hand on top of mine, silencing me. “Lemme just say one thing. I know we’re practically strangers and it’s none of my business, but I dunno. I feel like I know a thing or two about a thing or two.”

My curiosity was piqued. “What’s up?”

After a quick glance around, Ted leaned in close. “Roy… he thinks you’re special. You know that right? Because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. Heck, Helen Keller would be able to tell ya that Roy thinks the world of you.”

My heart stuttered as I looked at Ted. “I- you know, he-”

“But Roy’s pretty darn special too,” Ted continued. “He is so darn good. He’d do just about anything for the people he cares about. He’s got to be one of the most passionate people I have ever had the pleasure of knowin’. The man is a great coach and an incredible friend.” He cleared his throat. “Like I said, just a real special guy. And…” He shook his head. “I dunno. I think, and I’m sure a lot of other people think, that maybe you two… could be somethin’ special… together.” He threw his hands up as he hopped off my desk. “I said my piece. You can ignore me if you want, like I said it’s not really my place to talk.” He started towards the door, pausing halfway out of the office to look at me one more time. “But Roy… well if you let him, he’d care about you like no one’s business.” With a friendly nod, he was gone, leaving me alone with thoughts full of Roy Kent.

It was like Roy’s mind was at war with itself for a couple of days after the Whippets match. On the one hand, he was so angry with what he’d learned from Trent. Of course fucking Willows was behind this whole mess; the man was scum, after all. And the fact that her trust had been so fucking violated just crushed Roy. And now he had to figure out a way to tell her that didn’t look like he was just trying to break them up. Fucking hell.

But, even with all this inner turmoil, Roy couldn’t help feeling… happy. She was smiling at him, cracking jokes, and a couple of times he caught her gazing thoughtfully through the window from her office to his. Something had shifted, and Roy’s heart was soaring.

Still. How was he supposed to tell her who was behind their shared hell?

He was contemplating this when Rebecca bumped into him in the hallway.

“Oh, Roy, just who I was hoping to see.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

She nodded, stepping closer. “I was wondering how you’re doing. We haven’t had a chance to talk since… well, the other night.” Her eyebrows flew up. “That press conference was interesting, wasn’t it?”

“Interesting,” Roy repeated, shifting his weight and his gaze. “Yeah, you could call it that.”

As if summoned by Roy’s discomfort, the Whippets’ coaches walked by, chattering quietly. The two managers locked eyes, and Roy was the recipient of the softest smile, the kind that made his breath hitch and his fingertips tingle. He nodded back, keeping his eyes on her as she continued down the hall; to his absolute delight, she glanced back at him before disappearing around a corner.

Rebecca’s face softened as she watched the manager squirm. “Roy Kent, when are you going to fucking tell her how you feel?”

He sighed, glancing around, praying no one could hear the two of them. “Rebecca-”

“No, don’t ‘Rebecca’ me,” she scolded in a low voice. “Come on, Roy, I’m sick of seeing you stumble around here in this little daze. There’s something between you two, we all know it. It’s so damn obvious. It’s been there for months. Hell, it’s probably been there since the day she arrived. So go fucking tell her that you have real feelings for her.”

“Rebecca,” he warned, face burning. “It’s not that fucking simple-”

She rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop getting in the way of your own happiness. Stop acting helpless, because you’re not. You’re Roy fucking Kent! You deserve to be happy.”

Roy felt his blood boil as he finally snapped at his boss. “And you’re Rebecca fucking Welton! So when are you going to stop pretending you don’t love Ted and let yourself be happy?”

The color draining from Rebecc’s face told Roy he was right on the money. It wasn’t as if it was some great secret; everyone knew there was more than friendship between the owner and former manager. Well, maybe everyone except the owner and manager in question.

“Exactly,” Roy went on, confident that he’d ended this particular conversation. “When you talk to Ted about your feelings, I’ll talk to Bucky about mine.” He nodded, more to himself, and began to turn to walk away; Rebecca’s hand on his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

“Fine.”

Before Roy could say another word, Rebecca dragged him down the halls of the Dog Track, ignoring the curious looks of the people they passed as her heels click, click, clicked against the tile. She didn’t stop her quick pace until they were in the Greyhounds office, where Ted was chatting pleasantly with Beard.

Ted’s eyes lit up at the sight of Rebecca. “Well, hey there-”

“Ted Lasso,” Rebecca commanded, releasing Roy’s wrist. “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Roy had never seen Ted’s face so pale. “I-” the American choked, Beard wide-eyed next to him. “Well, gee- Becca, we-”

Rebecca took a step forward, raising a cool eyebrow at Ted. “Oklahoma.”

“Well, shoot.”

He cupped her face carefully and pulled her into a deep kiss; behind them, Beard’s arms were in the air as his mouth widened in a silent scream. Roy felt his ears go warm, his heart drumming with a mix of annoyance at Rebecca’s frankness and joy at seeing these two finally admit how they felt. He could also feel a twinge of envy in his chest; fuck, he wished he could be so honest.

Rebecca released Ted and turned to Roy, a goofy grin on her face. “There,” she hummed triumphantly. “Your turn, Kent. Off with you.” She looked back to Ted, fixing the collar on his polo shirt. “This one and I have some things to discuss.”

Blinking a few times, Roy turned his head towards the Whippets office, where Lucas stood with wide eyes. Realizing the answer to his current problem had been just through that door this whole time, Roy quickly ducked into the office, leaving the lovebirds behind.

“What in the world-?”

Roy shook his head and closed the door behind him. “Don’t fucking ask.” He glanced around. “She around?”

Lucas shook his head, clearly trying not to grin. “Want me to go get her for you?”

“No.” Roy cleared his throat, ignoring the heat on his face. “Lucas… I need your help with something.”

Today was the day, I decided. For a couple days now, I’d wondered if Roy was going to remind me about that beer he’d offered me. Even though we were on better terms than we’d ever been- saying hello when we passed one another, laughing, heck just smiling at each other- he hadn’t said anything else about grabbing a drink.

Of course, I didn’t mention a word about that to George. Things were icy since the press conference, with him insisting on going out to dinner the night after, which resulted in my picture going up on Twitter. But honestly, I didn’t care too much. Like I’d told everyone- I wanted to focus on my team.

Which I was admittedly struggling with since hugging Roy Kent.

Still, I did my best to get on with my day, running practice like I wasn’t wondering why Roy hadn’t asked me for a beer again. By the time Lucas and I made our way back to our office after most everyone else had left for the day, I was mentally composing a text to the Greyhound if he was free the next night. I threw my bag over my shoulder, mumbling something to Lucas about George picking me up for dinner. When I saw the sour look on his face, I sighed.

“What?”

He blinked at me. “What, what?”

“Luke,” I started slowly. “You’ve been weirdly quiet today. And the couple times I’ve mentioned George, you made these faces like you want to throw up. Is there something I should know?”

I had never seen such discomfort in my assistant coach’s expression; it had my stomach knotting up. “Bucky…” He ran his hands over his face. “Yesterday… I found out who leaked your photos.”

My heart nearly stopped in my chest. “You… you…” I clutched my bag, knuckles turning white as my voice lowered. “Who was it?”

Lucas closed his eyes, wincing. “George.”

It felt like all the wind was knocked out of me. “George?” I repeated, barely croaking it out. “As in my George?”

“Yeah.” Lucas rubbed the back of his neck, not quite looking me in the eye. “Trent Crimm, you know Trent, apparently he did some digging around… and found out that the Star had the original photos and… and George, well he passed them along to another publication.”

I sank into my chair, staring up at Brandi Chastain. “Why would he do that?” I whispered.

Lucas leaned on my desk, tenderly placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bucky. Really. I know I pushed you to go out with him, I know I-”

“No, Lukey,” I murmured, using the nickname I only called him when he was truly upset. “You didn’t know. Don’t you dare feel bad.”

He shook his head. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered, leaning back. “I swear, Bucky, when he walks through that door, I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna go home,” I told him, standing up. “And you’re going to get some rest, and you’re going to come into work tomorrow like normal. And you’re going to go to tomorrow night’s Greyhound’s match with me. And we’re going to keep winning and leave all this shit behind us, alright?”

“What are you gonna-”

I shrugged. “Gonna tell him I know. Gonna give him exactly two seconds to explain himself. Then gonna have him permanently banned from Nelson Road.” I stood and offered Lucas my closed fist. “I’ll be fine.”

Lucas tapped his fist to mine. “Call me when you get home.”

After he left, I sat in my chair, not bothering to take off my bag, just staring at the hallway door. When George appeared, he was wearing that smile, that boyish, charming smile, the one that used to make my heart flutter.

“Hey, you,” he hummed, not noticing the stony expression I wore. “What d’you want for dinner? I heard about this great new restaurant-”

“Why the fuck did you do it?” I was on my feet, face burning. “Why the ever-loving fuck would you give those photos to someone to publish?”

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. “No, see, Buck-“

“Fucking explain it,” I interrupted, bringing my face to his. “Tell me why you would put me through absolute hell. Why you would do something that put my reputation, my job, my everything at risk.” I blinked, refusing to let this man see my tears. “Tell me, George.”

For the first time since we met, his face held no confidence, only panic. “See, this is what happens to women who-who sleep with Roy Kent,” he stammered. “Honestly, aren’t you glad you found out now and not later? That being with Roy Kent is the wrong thing for you?”

“Oh my fucking-” I felt like everything was spinning. “You absolute jackass,” I groaned. “You piece of absolute shit. Because you were jealous that I had sex with Roy Kent, you told the world I had sex with Roy Kent? And this was supposed to make me want to be with you? I should fucking-”

“Buck?” Roy stood in the doorway between our offices, eyes wide as he stared at me. “You alri-” His gaze landed on George. “Oh, you fucking twat.” He stormed across the office, putting himself between us, chest to chest with the reporter. “You have three seconds to get the fuck out of here, otherwise, I will cut off your-”

“Roy.” I pulled him back by the shoulder, shaking my head at him.

He immediately stepped back, eyes never leaving George’s face and fists staying clenched at his side.

I whirled back around on George. “You need to leave,” I said in my lowest voice. “And you need to never, ever fucking talk about me, think about me, or write about either of us ever again. Or I will hunt you down and show you why I led the NWSL in fouls in my first season.”

George scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Maybe the two of you deserve each other,” he grumbled, nodding towards Roy. “Two washed-up has-beens, coaching low-rate teams, trying to stay relevant. Apparently the only time you’re relevant is when you’re getting fucked by that broken old bastard. No wonder you want to keep him around.”

It had been a couple decades since the last time I punched a boy on the playground, probably after an insult much less vulgar than this one. But as I looked at the smug look on George Willows’s face, I definitely remembered how. My fist connected harshly with his jaw with a satisfying thump. He staggered backwards, clutching his face.

“Bitch,” he hissed, stumbling towards the door. “Fucking bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled, cradling my fist in my other hand. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

We stood in silence as George trudged out, the sounds of his footsteps echoing through the otherwise empty halls. When I finally turned to look at Roy, he was already gazing at me with wide eyes, clutching his own jaw. The look of pure admiration in his eyes was almost enough to make me forget what I’d just learned.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. “That might have been the coolest fucking shit I have ever seen.”

I blinked at him for a moment, ignoring the pain in my hand. “Did you know?” I asked softly, taking a step towards him.

He looked down at my hand, tentatively taking it and holding it up. “Let’s get you some fucking ice,” he murmured. His soft eyes met mine again. “And then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Roy kept my hand in his as he led me to the treatment room, only letting go so he could find an ice pack while I hopped up on the treatment table. He turned back to me, more confident now as he lifted my hand off my lap and pressed the ice pack to it, watching my face carefully as he continued to hold my hand. I scooched closer to the end of the table, letting my knees brush against the front of his thighs.

“I… asked Trent to do some digging,” he finally began. “And he called me after your press conference.”

“That was the phone call you got in the office.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah.”

I tried to focus on his words instead of how incredibly close he was, close enough that I could feel his warm breath on my face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Think about it,” he chuckled glancing down at our hands. “You know I fucking hate the guy. You know I wasn’t… excited about you being with him.” He shrugged. “It’d look like I was just trying to break you up or some shit, like I was… I dunno…”

Like he was jealous.

“No, I get that.” I ducked my head, willing him to look me in the eye again. “So you told Lucas?”

He glanced up through his eyelashes. “So I told Lucas,” he confirmed. “Told him he could even call Trent if he wanted to confirm. You… you could call him too if you want. If you need to confirm.”

“I don’t need to.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. “Well, I’m not going to pretend that seeing you punch that twat wasn’t the most bad-ass thing I’ve ever seen.” He cleared his throat. “But I am sorry it happened this way.” His eyes were again on our hands, his thumb slowly stroking my skin. “I… would never want to see you hurt.”

“Thank you.” I followed his gaze, a warmth filling my chest as I realized how nice his hand felt in mine. “Can I ask…” I trailed off.

“Anything.”

I wrinkled my nose, thinking for a moment. “Why’d you hate him in the first place? The whole thing with throwing a chair at him?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Which I now realize was probably well-deserved.”

He gave a full smirk now. “Fucking ’course it was,” he hummed. “It’s… pretty shitty, honestly.” With a sigh, he threw his head back, as if wondering where to start. “See, he always had some shit to say about my private life when I was a player. And it was really fucking annoying.” He scowled as he looked back down. “And, see, there was this whole thing… with Keeley… and some fucking video of her… a private video…”

“Oh.” It suddenly made sense why Keeley had fought so hard for me and my photos; fuck, I wanted to hug her.

“Yeah. We were already broken up, and it had nothing to do with me, but, you know, fucking hurt like hell to see her go through that.” He cleared his throat. “And George fucking Willows decided to ask me if I’d seen the video and if I knew who it was for. So, I threw my fucking chair at him.” He shook his head. “That’s why I was so pissed seeing the two of you together, even without… the gala stuff. And I should have fucking said something. Should’ve told you exactly the kind of shit he was from the moment he started sniffing around you. It’s my fucking fault.”

I shook my head. “Come on, Roy. You know I wouldn’t have believed you back then. I wouldn’t have even let you finish one sentence about him.”

After a heavy pause, Roy offered me a small smile. “We’ve… come a long fucking way, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.”

My heart hammered as we gazed at each other, holding hands in the quiet treatment room. It felt just like the night of my press conference, when we hugged in my office and just held each other. Quiet, calm, natural. Good. Like we weren’t dealing with all the shit we were dealing with, like we were just frozen in this moment. Like we could finally have a moment of peace.

“Any chance I could drive you home?” His soft eyes were begging me to say yes.

But the realization of everything that had just happened tonight came crashing down around me; as tempted as I was to accept the ride home, maybe suggest a detour to a pub, I knew I needed to say-

“Some other time.” I cleared my throat and nodded down to my hand. “Kind of want to walk. Just take the evening to myself. Get some rest. Ice this thing some more.”

If he was disappointed, he wasn’t going to tell me. “Yeah, I get that.” He stepped back and helped me down from the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I squeezed his hand before reluctantly letting go. “I’ll be at your match, by the way.”

“Well.” He smirked, flexing the hand I’d been holding. “Here’s hoping I can impress you as much as you impressed me the other night.”

My face warmed as I tried to figure out what to say; honestly, I just wanted to prolong our conversation, not say goodnight and walk out of this room and away from whatever moment we were having. Seeing Roy haloed in the fluorescent light, I wondered what would happen if I just leaned forward and-

“Oh.” Will stood in the doorway, holding a laundry basket. “Hello, coaches.”

Roy took a small step away from me, eyebrows raised. “Will.” His eyes shifted to me before returning to the kitman. “How much this did you hear this time?”

Will shrugged. “Walking home, going to the game, impressing each other.”

“Right.” Roy cleared his throat and turned back to me. “Goodnight, Coach. I’d shake your hand but…” He nodded to my hand, still red from the ice pack, and let out a little huff of a chuckle. “Anyways, goodnight.”

“Night,” I echoed, turning back to the door. “Goodnight, Will.”

He nodded to me, clearly trying not to grin. “Goodnight, Coach.”

As I walked out, I could hear Roy’s voice, rough and low.

“Will. Not a fucking word.”

“I know.”

Roy wasn’t sure the last time he’d been this nervous for a match. It had nothing to do with their opponent; he knew his team could beat Sheffield, that was no problem. But tonight she would be watching him, and that had him feeling a bit like he did when he was a young man and would have a girlfriend come watch him for the first time: giddy, excited, desperate to impress.

As he took his spot in the dugout, he found himself looking up into Rebecca’s box. Sure enough, there were both Whippets’ coaches, chattering with Rebecca and Ted and Keeley, laughter all around. His heart melted a little, seeing her so carefree, as if she hadn’t just been betrayed and wasn’t still being watched and judged. Ever since her press conference, she seemed to not care anymore; she ignored the papps who still wandered in the parking lot, she had told Keeley to not bother mentioning any Twitter trends, and she laughed at the cover of some magazine featuring an unflattering photo of her mid-sentence in that press conference.

Almost as if she could feel his gaze, she looked down at the dugout, locking eyes with Roy. Her red-lipped smile widened as she gave a little wave, one Roy found himself returning with a grin of his own. He ignored the clearly amused looks from his friends in the owner’s box, as well as the knowing chuckles from his fellow coaches. It was clear to everyone at Nelson Road that something had changed, and for once, Roy found that he didn’t care about people knowing his business.

Not when his business was her.

“I see we have some visitors,” Beard hummed, raising his eyebrows at Roy.

Roy shrugged, turning his attention to the pitch. “Yeah,” he murmured, wondering if his blush could be seen from the owner’s box. “Nice of them to come.”

The two assistant coaches exchanged grins, shaking their heads at the pleased expression Roy couldn’t quite hide.

To Roy’s delight, the Greyhounds outdid themselves, playing better than they had all season. It was almost as if the guys knew he was hoping to impress her; it wouldn’t completely surprise him if that was exactly the case. When the final whistle blew on a 4-1 win, Roy found his eyes gravitating to the owner’s box; she was already looking at him. She offered him a grin and a playful shrug, almost as if to say Yeah, you impressed me. He tapped his fingers to his temple, saluting up to her with a smirk.

He could get used to his, having her at his matches. He considered asking her to come again to bring him luck, because she clearly did tonight. He definitely felt damn lucky receiving that smile after a win.

His stride was uncharacteristically light as he entered the changing room, where he shouted compliments at his team, who were all wearing the most shit-eating grins he’d ever seen. Those grins only grew when the Whippet coaches popped in to offer their congratulations. As she went around giving hugs and high-fives to the team, Roy couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes kept shifting to find him; he was sure everyone else noticed too.

Finally, she approached him, offering her hand. “Good job out there, Coach.”

He gently shook her outstretched hand, melting a little at her wince. “Your hand alright?”

“Definitely bruised,” she mumbled, making a face. “But fucking worth it.”

Roy nodded. “Well, if you need some help icing it some more…”

“You’re my first call,” she assured him, smirking. They stayed there for a moment, exchanging smirks, fully aware of the eyes on them. It took Jamie asking if she saw his two goals to finally bring them back down to earth. After answering Jamie, she gave Roy a friendly little shove and turned to walk out.

“Oi.”

She stopped, looking back at him with a coolly raised eyebrow.

Roy shrugged, suddenly bashful. “So? Did I impress you?”

Her coy laugh had his heart stuttering. “I’ll let you know when you buy me that beer you owe me.” With a teasing wave, she linked arms with a smirking Lucas and strutted out, taking Roy’s gaze with her.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Roy made his way to his office, where he found Ted, Beard, and Nate all waiting for him, expectation on their faces. He raised his eyebrows at them, closing the door behind him; he had a feeling he didn’t want the team to hear whatever this conversation was going to be.

“Yes?”

Ted spoke up. “Y’all are pretty darn cute together.”

Roy scoffed, pretending he didn’t love hearing the word together. “Fuck off,” he mumbled, not really meaning it as he took his seat.

Nate leaned on his desk dreamily. “You ask her out yet?”

“No.” He glanced down at his hands, thinking about holding hers. “Should I?”

“Yes,” all three men practically shouted.

Beard leaned back in his chair. “Roy, it’s pretty damn obvious the two of you like each other,” he pointed out. “You two’ve been very friendly, smiling at each other like you’re a couple of kids. And tonight she was like your own personal cheerleader. Please put us all out of our misery and ask that woman out.”

For once, Roy didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at his friends with something close to anxiety in his eyes. “How?” He cleared his throat. “Everything that’s happened… Don’t think I can just walk up and say ‘Hey let’s go to dinner and a fucking movie’, now can I?”

“That’s true,” Beard murmured, raising his eyebrows at Ted. “Sounds like what Roy needs is a…”

Ted snapped his fingers. “Grand gesture.”

Roy wrinkled his nose. “Excuse me?”

“Y’all are in the third act of your love story,” Ted explained, practically bouncing. “The rules of rom-communism state you need a grand gesture to show her how ya feel, somethin’ special and big, like- like runnin’ through the airport or holdin’ a boom box over your head or paying the dowry for her teenage sister to marry a slimy soldier.” He shrugged. “Show her how important and special she is to you.”

“Grand gesture,” Roy mumbled, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Grand fucking gesture.”

Sure. Roy could do that- right?

The following week was a blur of football, the announcement that Ted Lasso would be coming back onboard as a scout for both teams, continuing to field annoying questions from journalists, and, dare I say, flirting with Roy Kent. We had resumed running together in the evenings, time now filled with making fun of the reality tv playing in front of us as we pretended that we weren’t eyeing each other yearningly. Well, maybe I was the only one yearning; while I definitely caught his eyes leaving a burning trail down my body as I ran on the treadmill, he still hadn’t mentioned that freaking beer he promised me. Even after I took him up on his offer to drive me home a couple of times, he always stopped right in front of my building and wished me a good evening before I hopped out of the car.

Maybe we were friends. That was good, right? After all this time, being friends with Roy Kent was a relief to everyone at the Dog Track.

But damn, I thought as I sat at home on that late Friday afternoon, listening to the sounds of the rain that had us calling an early weekend, our first free one in a while- I didn’t want to be just friends with Roy Kent.

Underneath all the shit that had made me hate him for months, there was something special, as Ted as said. Roy was kind. Caring. Passionate. Almost funny. He loved his team and his friends and his adorable little niece. He completely understood my pain about retirement and the determination to stay close to the game. He’d been protective of me and supported me and, hell, even inspired me.

And the tabloids would be thrilled to hear that I thought he was fantastic in bed.

Fuck, I realized with a groan as I slumped further into my couch. My dumb ass loves Roy fucking Kent.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

The afternoon wore on, with the rain coming down progressively harder as I tried to distract myself with a movie and my playbook. But my mind kept wandering back to those brown eyes and that bearded smile, reevaluating every interaction we’d ever had, right back to that first night in the club. Clearly Roy was attracted to me; that had been pretty clear from the start, even when we were constantly arguing. But did he like me?

As I wondered about all the smiles and looks he’d been giving me lately, a timid knock at my door sent me jumping. Probably Lucas, I thought as I stood, adjusting my Richmond fleece sweater. We hadn’t said we wanted to hang out tonight, but he could always be counted on to randomly stop by with food and a movie.

But when I opened the door, there was no one in front of me. I frowned, ready to turn around and close the door, but something at my feet caught my eye: a small box, darkened by the rain, with a folded note taped to the top. I bent down and opened the note; its sloppy writing read:

I hope you never play nice again. Except maybe with me.

“The fuck?” I breathed. I bent down again to open the box and stood up holding a black and white soccer ball. As I turned it over in my hands, I slowly began to realize it had writing all over it: autographs. The names were familiar to me: Julie Foudy. Kristine Lilly. April Heinrichs. Mia Hamm. Brandi Chastain.

The 1991 United States Women’s Team.

I looked back at the note, realizing I knew that handwriting.

Roy.

I quickly shoved the ball and note back into the box and tossed it inside, stepping in only to put on the sneakers I kept by the door. Not caring about putting on a coat or checking my hair, I ran outside as fast as my stupid ankle could carry me, immediately finding myself drenched in the rain. I looked both ways, my heart sinking when I realized how empty the street was. Finally, I saw that giant black car, the one that had brought me home earlier that afternoon. And walking towards it was someone in a black leather jacket.

“Kent!” I called out, breaking into a full sprint, ankle throbbing. “Fucking Kent!”

The figure stopped, tense and motionless. Roy turned around, brown eyes wide as I kept racing to him. He walked towards me until we stood face to face. He studied my face as I put my hands on my hips, breathing hard from the run, pretending that my ankle wasn’t killing me.

“You alright?”

I shook my head. “The fucking… the ball. You won it? Back at the gala?”

“No, actually.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking pitiful and beautiful with the rain dripping down his bearded face. “I did put a bid on it. But I got outbid.” He cleared his throat, bouncing slightly. “So I tracked down the wanker who won it. Had to pay twice as much as he did, and I’ve got to make an appearance at his idiot kid’s birthday party but…” He shrugged. “D’you like it?”

“Yeah.” I nodded feverishly, the nervousness in his eye making me desperate to assure him. “Fucking love it. But why…” I stared up at him, resisting the urge to wipe the rain off his cheeks. “Why would you do all that?”

His eyes roamed my face, as though searching for something. Finding whatever it was he was looking for, he took a miniscule step closer, our bodies nearly touching. “Because that team… it means something to you. And you… well, you mean something to me.”

I swallowed hard, not caring about how drenched I would be by the time I got back to my apartment, or that I hadn’t locked the door behind me, or the fact that anyone could walk by and see us. All I cared about was hearing whatever Roy Kent had to say. “I do?”

He nodded anxiously. “Yeah.” He put an uncertain hand on my arm, watching me carefully for a reaction. When all I did was continue to gaze up at him with what I knew were adoring eyes, he went on. “Right. Just… just let me say this, alright? And then you can tell me to fuck off and we- we can go back to ignoring each other, or this friendship thing, whatever you want, I honestly don’t-”

“Roy?” I raised my eyebrows, desperate for him to keep going.

“Right, right.” He took a deep breath, hand still on my arm. “I feel about you the same way I did the night of the charity gala. I just think you are the most incredible woman I have ever met. I fucking admire you, all that you’ve done and all that you are. And I care about you, so fucking much.” His hand left my shoulder to cup my cheek, his grip soft and warm and everything good. “I cared about you the night of the gala. Probably cared about you for a long fucking time before that, but I was too stupid and prideful to realize it until we were already in the middle of everything. And my biggest regret in all of this was not waking up before you so I could keep you in my bed and make you breakfast and assure you that you were never going to be a one-night stand. You never fucking could be.” He shook his head gently. “Not you, Buck.”

Roy ducked his head and brought his face to mine, moving slowly, almost as if he was trying to give me a chance to stop him. Instead, I grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him to me, crashing my mouth into his in the most desperate kiss I’d ever felt. My head turned light as my body remembered Roy and his hands and his mouth and his body, as if it had missed him even more than my heart had. Suddenly, I recalled what I’d thought the night of the gala, as he kissed me for the first time on his couch.

Roy Kent was everything I never knew I needed.

His other hand grabbed my hip, tugging me flush against himself, humming a little as my lips parted for him. The rain poured down on us, drops of water sliding between our faces, but neither of us seemed to notice; we were too wrapped up in finally, fucking finally, winning. When his tongue gently brushed against mine, I gave a soft groan; fuck, I’d forgotten the beautiful taste of Roy Kent.

I’d kissed plenty of men plenty of times. Hell, I’d kissed Roy plenty of times the night of the gala. But, as his fingertips dug into my hip, I realized how starved I’d been for this kiss, the one that held way too much heat and way too much affection. How long had I been waiting for it? Since the press conference? Since the gala? Since the first time I saw him shirtless on a treadmill? Or from that first time I spotted him at that club, leaning against the bar, miserable and rude as hell?

His hand slid from my hip to my back, trying to pull me closer, if that was even possible. Somewhere in the kiss, I lost track of whose heartbeat was whose; my entire body was pulsing and tingling. The rain sounded so faint and far away compared to the sound of Roy’s breathing and soft groans against my mouth. I wanted to swallow those groans, to rip off that leather jacket, to let myself have everything I’d been stupid enough to deny myself all these weeks.

Sensing that I probably couldn’t handle much more, lest we really give the paparazzi something to publish, Roy pulled back, face soaked and smiling. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, his thumb stroking my face. “I take it you don’t want to just be friends then?”

I laughed, probably the most real laugh I’d felt in a while, and gave his jacket a playful tug. “Fuck no. Who’d want to be friends with Roy Kent?”

He leaned down and kissed me again, slowly, tenderly this time, smile pressing against smile. “Play nice,” he mumbled against my mouth. “Or I’m taking my football home.”

“How about I play nice,” I murmured as I leaned back, smirking, “if you finally take me out for that beer you’ve been teasing me with? I believe you still owe me one, Kent.”

Roy smiled and let me go, taking my non-bruised hand and interlocking our fingers. “Fuck that,” he chuckled. “Everything we’ve been through, I’m buying you a whole damn bar.”

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#roy kent something there #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso

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sinfullyrosey · 2 years

Text

Jellyhead: Part Two, Electric Boogaloo

Azul Ashengrotto X GN!Jellyfish!Reader

Warnings: Slightly Suggestive Themes (no direct smut)

I hate posting from mobile. >:/ Couldn’t even properly proofread it and ended up rushing it at the end. Anyways, here’s more Jellyfish!Reader.

All characters are 18+

The first year was expecting a few things when meeting with the head of Octavinelle. He’d been informed prior about what to expect, after all. He was warned about the dormhead’s silver tongue and trusting demeanor, his ability to convince you to sign one of his contracts as if there weren’t any serious consequences tied to doing so.

He had been thoroughly warned to beware of the looming eels that prowled around their boss and the horrors both could inflict upon him if requirements were not met. By the time the student had arrived at the designated meeting time, he was prepared for the absolute worse. He was expecting the cold, sharp eyes of the leader and sharp-fanged smiles of the twins.

What he was not expecting, was to see the very dormleader sitting in his usual desk chair with what looked to be a jellyfish merperson soaked in water (explains why the floor was wet when he came in) sitting in his lap. Nobody had mentioned a fourth member of Octavinelle, especially one so… softlooking.

The jellymer’s tentacles were sprawled out on the chair and dormleader, their arms wrapped around his neck. They were nuzzled up to him, the wide, jellyfish cap on their head pressing softly into Azul’s neck and cheek.

The first year blinked incredulously as the jellyfish left soft kisses along Azul’s exposed skin. Aside for the slight pink hue on his cheeks, Azul seemed unfazed by the affections lavished onto him and merely continued on with his spiel pertaining to the contract at hand.

“Jellybean, not in front of the client.” Azul whispered, briefly interjecting his own speech, while trying to brush off the light touches of his partner.

“Hmmm?” You hummed, sending vibrations against his sensitive skin with each loving peck.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll have to have I or the twins discipline you.”

You frowned at the lighthearted threat, but complied, pouting oh-so cutely. The student gawked at the scene playing out before his very eyes, contract long forgotten by this point.

“Excuse the interruption. As I was saying…”

The poor, unfortunate soul’s entire focus was on the jellymer, Azul’s words not once registering in his mind. Instead, he watched as the mysterious Octavinelle student played with the other’s tie, lidded eyes dully focused on nothing as he waited for the transaction to finish and they could continue kissing their boyfriend.

“Ahem, are you even listening to what I am telling you, or are you too focused on other things?”

The student blinked and refocused his attention on the serious, blue eyes of the dormhead.

“U-uh, um…”

Azul sighed and presented a quill for the student to take and pushed the contract forward.

“Please, understand that I’m a very busy person, and I haven’t got all day. Another client will be coming in less than half an hour, so just sign here and we will be all set. I’ve presented you with the requirements, so just sign.”

The student was on autopilot, barely giving the contract a glance, but signing away anyways. He was too taken aback with the whole experience, reeling over what he experienced to the others in his dorm as he walked out of the VIP room, closing the door and leaving the two Octavinelle students alone.

Azul let out a heavy sigh and slumped back in his seat. You snuggled up to him once more, continuing where you left off.

“What am I going to do with you..?”

You looked up at him with big, innocent eyes, unaware of what he meant.

“You can’t just bust into my office right before a meeting and sit on me, especially not in your merform while dripping wet! You looked ridiculous, practically crawling in here and demanding affection…”

“Do you want me to transform into my human form?” You tilted your head.

“No no, that’s not… No, just, stay like this…”

Your partner huffed, repositioning himself and then you, so that you were sat facing him, tentacles wrapping carefully around him. He was the one now snuggling into you, face buried in your chest and allowing you to continue planting soft kisses onto his head.

He always got so openly affectionate behind closed doors.

You ran your fingers through his hair, humming gently and just basking in your shared warmth. Azul was completely limp in your hold, leaning more into you and clutching onto you like a lifeline.

All was quiet and comfortable.

Except, until you suddenly felt a presence on your lower half. The sensation of something rubbing against where your groin would be. The sensation of a clothed member rubbing against you, begging for more attention.

Oh.

Alright then.

Looks like your octolover was in the mood for something more intimate, if his continuous grinding and groping hands had anything to say. So much for not bothering him while he’s in his office.

Bonus

Well, today was turning out to be rather interesting.

Jade thought to himself while he worked the Lounge’s bar, wiping one of the glasses down. His gaze followed the figure of his jellymer dormmate, now in their human form, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a white button-up shirt, blissfully skipping their way through the Lounge and towards the fishtanks.

The eel could only guess who’s clothes you were sporting. And speaking of which…

“Y-y/N! Get back here! You’re indecent!”

Azul was close behind, looking a bit flustered and disheveled himself, glasses askew and face turning a light blue. Looks like he was trying to wrangle you in and prevent any more students from seeing his precious partner in such a compromising position.

And you merely gave him that innocent, wide-lipped smile of yours.

Jade chuckled as he watched Azul cover you the best he could with his coat and try to drag you back to his office, away from the prying eyes of the other students. He saw you plant sloppy kisses all over the flustered octopus’s face, leading to him picking you up bridal style and just carrying you back to the privacy of his room to deal with you.

“Ha ha, looks like our little jellyfish is gonna get it.~”

Jade was met with his twin, Floyd, leaning against the counter and watching the scene along with him. The other nodded, continuing with his work, even as his brother leered at the couple.

“Hey, Jade, you think Azul will let us join in this time?”

Jade thought for a second, turning his attention briefly to his brother as he processed the question, before looking back over to the disastrous couple. Azul finally reached his office door and was struggling to open it with you still in his arms, you giggling all the while.

“Hmm…” His eyes squinted into something dangerous, yet knowing.

“Maybe.”

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto X Reader #GN!Reader

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idontknowreallywhy · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday

One of those little ideas that made me think “oooh that might be fun” but which @sofasurf will probably rugby tackle me to prevent another 16-chapter deviation from the actual plot… but I do love the Murderbot-PA.

Big fic backstory not required at all. All you need to know is Scott gave his friend a direct dial for his “personal assistant, Dawn” which she used to get in touch at one point when her phone was crushed and she borrowed one from a guy with a labradoodle that she’s met a few times at the beach. You probably don’t need to know about the labradoodle… but you do now.

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

“Scott Tracy’s Personal Assistant direct line, how may I help you?”

“Scott TRACY? What?! Wow, I must have misdialled I’m so sorry. Err, bye.”

There was a click.

EOS hacked a couple of mobile network provider databases and established the name, address and credit history of the person registered as the owner of the number that had just called.

Just to be thorough, she ran a quick criminal records check.

There was nothing in the Personal Assistant training course material she had assimilated that covered what to do in this situation.

So she asked John.

“Slow down EOS. Tell me again.”

“The number Estera Hermaszewska used to call me called again but it was not her calling, John.”

“Ok, but she’d borrowed a phone to call hadn’t she? Perhaps the owner accidentally pressed redial. It doesn’t seem to be a cause for concern but perhaps we should discontinue use of that number and set up another.”

“Should I not have run the background checks, John?”

“I don’t think so EOS. As Scott reminded us both, we do need to have regard for the privacy of innocent civilians.”

“Yes John.”

John breathed a sigh of relief that it had been himself EOS had come to today, not Scott.

“John?”

“Yes, EOS?”

“What definition of “innocent” are we using for current purposes?”

🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #wip wednesday #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #EOS (thunderbirds)#john tracy #the Commander and the Murderbot #Scott Tracy’s personal assistant Dawn

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kp777 · 4 months

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By Brett Wilkins

Common Dreams

Feb. 5, 2024

"Forty-seven percent of the voters are poor or low-wage," said one activist. "Getting that vote in is very important."

The Poor People's Campaign on Monday launched a 42-week nationwide mobilization of poor and low-income Americans to "wake the sleeping giant" of a voting bloc with the potential to determine the outcome of the 2024 elections.

"It is time for a resurrection and not an insurrection," Poor People's Campaign co-chair Rev. Dr. William Barber II said during a press conference in Washington, D.C. "We must engage poor and low-wealth people to change the political landscape."

"For far too long extremists have blamed poor people and low-wage people for their plight, while moderates too often have ignored poor people, appealing instead to the so-called middle class," he continued. "Meanwhile, poor and low-income people have become nearly half of this country and we are here today to make one thing clear: Poor and low-wage brothers and sisters have the power to determine and decide the 2024 elections and elections beyond."

"Economic justice and saving this democracy are deeply connected."

Poor People's Campaign co-chair Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis stressed that "economic justice and saving this democracy are deeply connected."

"In this rich nation that has the wherewithal to end poverty tomorrow where there's the political will, we must not overlook the voices and votes of poor and low-income people," she added. "We are mobilizing and organizing, registering and educating people for a movement that votes... for healthcare and debt cancellation. Votes for living wages and strong anti-poverty programs. Votes for fair taxes and demilitarization of our communities and our world. Votes for immigrant rights and more."

Democratic pollster Celinda Lake said at the press conference: "In 2024, the election is going to be about mobilization... Democrats have an enthusiasm gap today and the progressive alliance and Democrats have fissures within their constituencies that make getting out the vote even more important."

"The biggest bloc of potential voters by far is low-income, low-wage voters," Lake noted. "Where the margin of victory is projected to be less than 3% in 2024, 30-45% of the voters are low-wage voters or low-income families... The turnout among low-wage voters and low-income voters today is... 20-22% below the average turnout. This is a huge bloc of voters, and it is a bloc of voters that votes 58-60%—at minimum—progressive, no matter how conservative the state."

"You're talking about a huge number—a game-changing number—of voters," she added.

The campaign's main scheduled events are a Mass Poor People's & Low-Wage Workers' Moral March to State House Assemblies on March 2 and a rally and march in Washington, D.C. on June 15.

"I have been struggling to pay my bills since I've been working at 16 years old. I work full time, 64 hours a week, seven days a week," said Beth Schafer of Raise Up for $15 during a video promoting the new campaign. "I am exhausted."

Crow Roberts, an organizer with the Indiana Poor People's Campaign, said in the video that "our government finds it necessary to ban abortion to say that they are saving our children, but more children die as a result of poverty in this country."

Guadalupe de la Cruz of the Florida Poor People's Campaign asserted that "we should not be cornered and forced to choose between one necessity or another."

Speaking at the press conference, Alabama activist Linda Burns said that "for three years I worked the assembly line at Amazon in Bessemer, Alabama. The work was grueling. We were expected to work like robots, moving like 1,000 pieces per hour."

"I got badly injured. My left arm," she continued. "I had two surgeries. I had to get a third surgery, but I didn't have no more insurance. Amazon, they cut my insurance off a year after. They let me go last October."

"Amazon let me go because I was helping organize the union," said Burns. "We didn't get the union in Alabama but I'm gonna do everything in my power to stand in solidarity. Organizing the union showed me just how many people were in the same situation I was. Not just in Alabama, but all over the world."

"Forty-seven percent of the voters are poor or low-wage. Getting that vote in is very important," she added. "We cannot settle for less, we've got to stand up for our rights. We are forward together—not one step back."

#poor peoples campaign #democracy #2024 elections #william barber #liz theoharis #poverty

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yesimwriting · 1 year

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Resurgence

A/n this is a product of me going with the flow to get rid of some writer’s block, i originally wanted to write a jason x reader story but this became much more background heavy and turned into something else so i’m thinking maybe mini series! some found family vibes, idk though

Summary: After an impulsive attempt to run away with your best friend ends in an accident that alters everything about you (literally--like on a genetic level), you’re pushed into the Titan’s world.

----

Earlier.

I know it’s too early for total cynicism, but the note Jenna left out on the counter doesn’t allow for much else. A passive aggressive, vague scribbling reminding me that just because we went to bed and woke up doesn’t mean the fight is over. The note is taped to a box of cereal because she’s pointedly reminding me that there’s a reason she’s not here making me breakfast. Whatever.

I pour myself a bowl before pulling open the door to the fridge. The nearly empty carton of milk is expired. Perfect.

My phone starts to buzz before I can get rid of souring milk. Violet’s contact name and picture takes up my screen as I pick up the device. “Hey.”

“Do you remember yesterday? When you were talking about just getting in a car and driving anywhere and everywhere and never looking back?”

Intense way to start a before 8AM call. “Weird conversation starter... but yeah.”

She sighs, the sound a puff of air into my receiver. “I took my step dad’s car, I’m about to pass your house, do you want to come with me?”

Oh my god. She’s lost it. “Are you insane?”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

My eyes fall to the skirt of my uniform and then to Jenna’s note. Memories of last night’s argument hit with no warning. “Let’s go.”

----

Present.

There’s light and then I’m plunged back into darkness. A nothingness that I can feel. A nothingness that aches. Get up. Get up. Get--

My body won’t move. I latch onto the only thing I can, the faint prickle of light from behind my eyes. It’s kind of...irritating. And I can hear a strange, flat ringing. I screw my eyes shut tighter, a touch of mobility returning. Slowly, enough of it comes back for me to open my eyes.

Okay. I’m staring at a roof. Not at the sky...and not at Violet’s...The thought brings me back to the pain in my body. Everything is sore, but I’m resting somewhere that should be comfortable. A bed, not the side of the road...not the last place I remember.

Wait--where am I? I sit up fully, the buzzing noise turns into a sporadic mess of beeping. Each bump of noise feels like it’s striking me in the head. My hands stretch forward to rub my face. The movement feels like mush and restrained.

My eyes drop to my arms. There’s a tube sticking out of my arm, an object I vaguely register as an IV. A few other wires are sticking out from me, including a tube in my nose. Okay--this is getting weird. I sit up a little more before twisting my fingers around the oxygen tube.

“I wouldn’t--” My body presses as far back into the cot as I physically can before snapping my head forward. There’s a guy standing next to one of two chairs lined neatly against a wall. “I don’t think you should touch that.”

Has he been here the entire time? And--and what is ‘the entire time’? How long has it been since Violet?

The question claws its way all the way to the tip of my tongue. I clamp my mouth shut to keep from asking it because I already know. After what I saw...what I felt...I know the answer. No one gets put back together after going through what happened to Violet and the last thing I want right now is to get into it with a stranger who may or may not be a danger. Speaking it into the world feels too real, too solid a vulnerability.

All I can do is stare at the stranger. His neat brown hair and put together posture seem mature enough that he could be a doctor if I’m going with the assumption that this is a hospital, but that doesn’t feel right. He’s not wearing a lab coat and his clothing feels a little too casual. He also feels a little too young to have finished med school.

“...You’re not a doctor.”

He takes my analysis well, tilting his chin down quickly in some sort of nod. “No.” The stranger takes a small step forward, more of a shift in my direction. “What do--do you know where you are? Do you remember anything?”

The question is a jab to already bruised ribs. Do I remember? Remember the car that came out of nowhere, that started chasing us at the gas station; the box Jenna pulled out from under the seats; the electric feeling of that liquid in my veins; waking up again and seeing the wreckage, seeing Jenna...

I swallow it all down, eyeing the stranger a little more cautiously. The urgency is weird. There are only so many reasons for a stranger to be in a hospital room with me. There’s a small chance he’s just some kind of good samaritan, who found me bleeding out somehow. He could also be with the people from the car or--or something else. Something bigger.

“Why do you care?” The words feel too raspy to have any real bite. “Actually, a better question--who even are you?”

His eyebrows draw together briefly, almost reluctantly. “I’m Dick Grayson.”

It’s a patient introduction, not exactly soft but politer than I expected. I don’t know what the appropriate reaction is, so I just nod.

Something about the way he’s lingering tells me that this strange interaction hasn’t been enough for him. Dick is going to push his questions or ask something else or maybe even justify his presence, but before he gets to do any of that, the door is pushed open.

A woman in a lab coat doesn’t even throw a curious glance in Dick’s direction. Does that indicate that he’s been in here for awhile? Or--or did he tell the hospital we’re in that I know him somehow?

“Okay,” the doctor hums, extending the last syllable as she glances at a clipboard, “You’re looking a lot better after the scare you gave us.” Her eyes shift away from my chart and towards the heart monitor that’s now beeping steadily, “Hm. That last alert must have been some kind of system error.”

Whatever that means. “Uh--scare?”

She presses her lips together, briefly turning her attention back to the clip board. “You were rushed into treatment, your body has experienced significant trauma.” The doctor pauses to take a breath, “Maybe this would be better discussed later. With a parent.”

“What happened after...the accident?” She still seems unsure. “Please.”

The doctor lets out a hesitant sigh, “During your treatment, your heart briefly stopped.” I--I flatlined? “But after you restabilized, there were no further complications and you seem well on your way to making a full recovery.” I nod blankly. “Is there anyone we should call for you?” Ugh. Jenna’s so going to kill me. “Could you use a minute first?”

“A minute sounds like a good idea.” Whoever Dick Grayson is, he has no issue over inserting himself.

The doctor nods, being suspiciously unsuspicious of the random guy, “Alright, I’ll be back.”

She leaves; Dick doesn’t. I turn my arm over, staring at the IV in my arm. Maybe if I’m quiet enough, he’ll leave.

“You remember the accident.” Guess the assumption that he’d just leave was an optimistic one.

My fingers twist the thin fabric of the hospital blanket. “Did you find me or something?”

Dick pauses, thinking about the best way to answer what must feel like a fragile question. “Or something.” Weird. “That car you were in, it wasn’t yours.”

Great, now I’m not only going to have to tell Violet’s parents what happened to her, I’m also going to get arrested for stealing a car. “No.”

The confession has no affect on him. He seemed sure enough in his assumption, so maybe he already decided my answer wouldn’t matter. “Did you know what was in the car?”

There’s a generalness in the question that I could use to my advantage--should use to my advantage--but the memories resurfacing make all rational thought impossible. The stuff in the car is what got me here.

“No,” the answer is more honest than I should be, “Not until after.”

His eyebrows pinch together, a hint of something less stoic bleeding into his expression. Maybe a touch of empathy. It’s not overbearing or much, but the shift is enough to make me feel exposed. Too exposed for some guy who I met through a hospital room and has only given me his name. A part of me wishes my phone was on me--a google search could potentially help.

I flatten my hands on my lap. “How do you know about the car?” The last people that knew about the weird fluid rammed themselves into a car until it flipped off a bridge. He could easily be working for them--some nice enough looking guy to make sure I woke up without freaking out and alerting anyone.

“I’m not with them.” Dick provides his defense stiffly, like he’s aware of its lack of strength.

The call button is only inches away from my hand. “Right, ‘cause the people that used a car to push my car off a bridge are for sure above lying.”

He takes another mini-step forward. “I’m actually trying to help you.”

Another thing he can’t prove. “Then tell me how you know about the blue stuff.”

Dick tries to suppress a sigh. I can’t tell if he was working under the assumption that I’d just wake up and happily go along with whatever. “...Because I’ve been looking for it.”

“That’s not sketchy at all.”

Something else tugs at his expression that’s different than before. Not pity or an apology, more like a general acknowledgement of how weird he’s being. “I saw the accident.” The words hit harder than they should considering the lack of meanness. “One of the vials was missing.”

Right before the accident, I opened the small box to see what Violet was talking about. I took one of the vials out to examine it and then the car flipped. “So you have the other vials?”

My question isn’t appreciated. “Do you know what happened after the accident?” The first few minutes, I was still awake. Conscious enough to crawl my way out of the car, but everything after that is stuck behind a dark wall. He takes my silence as an answer. “The battery was completely fried, but the engine was still running.”

That’s a fun fact? “Uh--cool?” I never did ask him anything that would reveal how mentally well he is. “I must have missed that while trying to crawl out of it before it exploded or something.”

“I didn’t--” The corner of my mouth turns up a little at his slight unease. I wasn’t sarcastic with the intention of being mean or making the stranger uncomfortable, but I’m not exactly mad it happened. He seems to catch onto the fact that I’m only giving him a hard time because I can. “Cars need batteries to run.”

Dick’s eyes stay trained on me after those words, analyzing my reaction to them. My first instinct is to dismiss it. I can’t imagine that car ever being fixed and car batteries are replaceable. That’s the least of its issues. Then it hits me--how was the engine running? “Oh.” He’s still watching. Why? “...What does a car have to do with me?”

“The people that are looking for the vials are dangerous.” I lift an arm to gesture to my IV, a quiet way of saying no shit. “They’re going to come back.”

My stomach knots at that. It’s not like I necessarily thought this was all over, but I hadn’t considered what could happen next. “I don’t have the missing vial.” As far as I know, he’s no one important, but the urge to get him to believe me hits hard and fast. “It probably fell and--and shattered or something.”

His expression doesn’t give me anything to work with. “If you come with me, I can test if it had any effects on you--”

Okay, I know a kidnapping scam when I see one. “You’re kidding, right?” He keeps his blankness, his posture somehow straighter than it was before. Dick’s radiating a sense of authority that’s definitely practiced. “Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m trying to help.”

“And if I don’t want your help because there’s no way some weird, lab goo did anything to me?” My hand shifts forward, reaching for the remote with the help button. “You seem nice enough, thank you for not leaving me to die in some underpass, but I think it’s time you go. Good luck with your goo situation.”

Dick’s eyes drop down to my hand. In about two steps, he’s at the side of my bed. “Don’t.”

I’ve never wanted to press a button more in my life. My thumb finds the trigger, but before I can press it, a strong grip secures itself around my wrist. He moved so quickly, I’m still registering the fact that he went to grab me. Who is this guy?

Before I can warn him that I have nothing against screaming bloody murder until someone separates us, I’m snapped out of my thoughts. My body feels disconnected, like it’s floating.

A light flickers behind my eyes, glazing over my vision. Some strong, hard to name thing pulls at my stomach, an even stronger feeling settles in my chest. That one is easier to listen to as something flickers to the front of my mind like a hazy memory or unfinished dream. I can’t tell what it is, but my body knows to trust it. To believe it. Do I know him?

The feeling is so close to familiarity that it feels like a physical hit. My fingers go slack, and the remote slips from my grasp and onto the cot. He lets go and moves back into place immediately.

I know that deciding whether or not to let some random guy run some sort of test on me cannot be a choice so influenced by a vibe. But what I saw has drained most of the fight from me. Maybe it’s a side effect of the car accident. Like some type of internal bleeding?

“Sorry, I don’t--”

“You want to run some tests on me or--?” It’s more of a summary for me than a direct question for him. Ugh. Maybe if he had asked for anything less weird...then again, I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be weird from a stranger that’s just in my hospital room. “How do you even know about this?”

He hesitates, “Long story.”

Helpful. I guess it is kind of comforting that he’s this bad at getting me to want to come with him, because no respectable kidnapper would be this openly weird. And that instinct is still at the back of my mind, urging me to trust him. “You get that you’re super sketchy, right?” If this is some kind of trap, I deserve what I’m going to get. “If I agree, can I borrow a phone to call someone?” Grabbing my phone wasn’t a priority when I crawled out of that car, and I really doubt it somehow miraculously made its way to the hospital with me.

“Parents?”

Jenna’s so gonna kill me. “Sort of.” I’m not in the mood to get into my living situation, so I just stare at my sheets before he can ask. “What? You’re the only that gets to be cryptic?” The attempt at humor surprises me. He’s still a stranger, but my head isn’t accepting that.

“You can call them.”

“Then...okay.” I’m going to end up on dateline and my episode will be so boring some girl with a true crime podcast will skip my episode. “But if you’re some kidnapping serial killer, I will fuck you up.”

The corner of his mouth turns up a bit, like something about what I said is amusing him. Kind of rude, considering that I’m being completely serious, but I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse about my decision.

----

This might be one of the nicest buildings I’ve ever stepped foot in. It’s not like the building Dick’s led me to is overly extravagant, but it’s definitely structured in a way that feels well off. Like it’s owned by the kind of rich person that’s so wealthy they don’t feel the need to prove it.

“Dude,” I give myself a second to take in the space, “If you had led with how nice this place is, we could’ve skipped the whole hospital argument.”

My presence here feels a little bit like a smudge. It’s not like I’m always put together or feel like I should be overly dressed up, but the hospital gave me back what I was wearing during the accident. Because Violet decided to runaway before school, I left the house in my uniform. It’s not the cruelest thing I’ve seen a Catholic school put someone in, but the plaid skirt and white button down don’t do much for my confidence, and they didn’t exactly hold up in the chaos of the accident...neither did my hair or face.

“Really?”

I shrug, still looking around the space, “It definitely wouldn’t have hurt.” Tugging on the dirt smeared edge of my sleeve, I turn back to him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.” It’s not information I really wanted to give, but I’m already here. It’s not like he can double kidnap me if that’s what this is, and knowing who I am won’t change anything. If he tries to use me for ransom all he’ll be able to get from Jenna is an IOU. “Felt weird that I hadn’t said that yet.”

The car accident must have seriously damaged my self preservation abilities, or maybe it’s the fact that anything I can latch onto is a distraction from Violet, because I step further into the room, fully entering the space and seeing the full living room.

Two heads on the side of the couch that I couldn’t see before snap towards me so quickly it almost feels like they moved in sync. The one farthest from me has a dark purple bob and the boy next to her has green hair. The stare off is a little weird and refuels my doubts. They both look a lot closer to my age than Dick’s.

The girl breaks the silence, “Who’s this?”

I’m not sure if that’s a question directed at me or Dick, but I answer anyway, “I--”

“You wanted to call someone, right?” Dick steps up so that he’s next to me, handing me an unlocked cell phone.

Weird place to jump in, but at least he isn’t being cagey and taking away my ability to contact someone. “Yeah.” I take the phone, already dreading this conversation. “Could I get some water?”

“Kitchen’s that way, take whatever you want.” Looking through a rich guy’s fridge might take the sting out of being berated by Jenna.

I start walking in the direction he gestured towards. “Cool.”

After finding the kitchen, I dial Jenna’s number. She answers on the second ring. “Okay--don’t freak out.”

“Where the fuck are you? Were you kidnapped?”

“One, that sounds like freaking out. Two, why are you always assuming I’ve been kidnapped?”

She sighs before getting my name out in a way that tells me to not mess with her right now. That makes me cut to the chase, summarizing majority of what happened and glossing over what I can’t get out or explain. She gets extra mad when I tell her that I followed a stranger home just because they said they found me. Jenna rightfully yells at me, and then finally asks me where I am.

The realization that I have no clue makes me feel a lot worse about the situation. I paid extra attention on the drive here, but no part of this felt like any part of Gotham I’ve ever been to. Maybe it’s because it’s a richer area?

I duck my head back into the living room, “Hey, Dick?” He looks up from the two in the living room, who I guess he was giving some context to. “I’m on the phone and someone wants to pick me up. Where are--” Jenna cuts me off in that way of hers, reminding me how much I suck at giving directions. “Uh--she wants to talk to you.”

His eyebrows draw together, “Your mom?”

Shrugging, I start walking towards him. “Uh--my Jenna,” I hold the phone out towards him, “That’s like having a mom, just...louder.” He eyes the phone oddly. “You’ll see.” He’ll have to, Jenna gets her way.

Dick takes the phone, instantly catching on to what I meant and stepping away to talk to her. He throws out the part of stolen car, which would have been nice for him to keep to himself. Then he says...San Francisco, which makes no sense to me because Violet and I were nowhere near California. That’s where she wanted to go, but we barely made it out of Gotham before it all happened.

I blink, sitting down on the couch in shock. My head then turns to the boy next to me, “Hi, I’m Y/n.”

After a second, he smiles politely and says, “Gar.”

“Nice to meet you,” a little awkward, but he’s looking at me so politely I can’t help but fall back on normal habits, “Are we not in Gotham?”

He briefly looks confused and then a little apologetic, “No.”

Great, I’m brain damaged. That’s the only logical explanation for how I got to San Francisco without even realizing it. “...Cool.”

The girl sits up a little more, looking over at me, “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” all of my potential answers make me sound insane, “I’ve been better.”

Dick’s conversation with Jenna seems to be getting calmer, which bugs me a little. I can’t explain it, it’s just suspicious that he’s not only this super upstanding guy that helped me get to and from the hospital, he’s also capable of getting Jenna on his side. He ends the call.

Before he can give any kind of update, I’m already up, “How am I not in Gotham?” I don’t give him the chance to answer. “You said you saw the accident, so that means you got me here.”

“No.” I wonder how quickly I could get out of here. My body’s still sore, but pain’s something to worry about later. “I--exaggerated on how much I saw.”

He’s not exactly helping himself, “So you've been lying this entire time.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

That sounds like something a kidnapper would be worried about. Panic rises in my chest and the room feels too hot, too charged. The lights briefly waver and that only adds to my stress. “Then how did I get here?”

Dick’s looking at me the same way he did in the hospital. A hesitant sort of empathy. It’s restrained, but it feels so genuine that my stomach twists. If he’s not the one that dragged me here, then that means that--and how much time did I lose?

It feels too naive to believe him just because of a look, but that would explain a lot. If he had seen the accident, he would have had more questions. He probably would have mentioned Violet. “How’d you find me? And--and why’d you say that stuff about the car battery?”

“They had you, and the battery thing was a little different than what I said.” The confirmation is a punch to the gut. How long was I out? What did they do to me? Why did they take me when they had the vials? “Jenna’s flying out first thing tomorrow.” I must look like I’m about to snap, because he’s making a point of keeping his words even and slow. I don’t know how she’s going to fly out considering she maxed out her credit card trying to buy concert tickets. “We can get you something more comfortable to wear and something to eat before we get into anything else.”

He’s just trying to be nice, understanding, but it makes me feel too much like a little kid. Especially since there are two people around my age watching this play out. There’s still a chance this is some kind of trap, but it’s a little too late to decide if I trust him. I give in with a reluctant nod.

----

The shower pressure I just experienced is something that I can’t see myself forgetting. Before I walked into the bathroom the girl, who I learned is named Rachel, brought me something comfortable. Some elastic pajama pants and a black crewneck.

I don’t know how much of it is Rachel being genuine or if Dick told her to hang around a little, but she showed up a little after I got out of the shower and took me to a guest bedroom so I could put away my clothes. She then walked me to the kitchen, awkwardly admitted that they’re overdue for a grocery run before giving me some options.

Rachel ends up making me a grilled cheese. It’s a little awkward letting a stranger do something for me, but it’d feel even weirder casually using an unfamiliar kitchen like I live here.

My hunger felt all consuming until food was put in front of me. I keep thinking of Violet and all the hours I lost. But rationally, I know I should eat something and that it’d be kind of rude not to, so I take small bites of the edge of my sandwich.

I’m still working on the first triangular half when Gar shows up, offering me another polite smile. I force myself to return it even though the day’s starting to catch up with me.

“Uh-hey,” he walks into the kitchen, “I know I introduced myself earlier, but that was...” Gar brushes that train of thought away with a small breath, “Uh--are you feeling better?”

I nod, turning to face him, “The shower helped.” I set my half of the grilled cheese down, “I picked so many twigs out of my hair.” Why would I say that?

“Yeah, you look a little better.” He reaches the counter, tapping his fingers on the counter, “Not that you looked bad before! Just that you look like you’re feeling a little better.”

The correction comes out like a knee-jerk reaction. Like he really thought he might have offended me. “I get it,” I can’t help but smile a little, “And absolutely no worries if you had meant it the other way, I saw myself in the mirror. I definitely looked accurate to my car accident.” I thought mentioning the car accident casually would make it feel breezy and normal, but it just feels sad. “There’s no non-weird way to say that.”

“It’s fine.” Gar’s words come out so assured I almost believe him, “We’ve heard weirder.”

Rachel nods, “A lot weirder.”

I look between the two of them before taking another bite out of my grilled cheese. They’re both looking at me while trying to pretend that they’re doing something else. I guess I know how my 4th grade class guinea pig felt.

A part of me wants to start conversation. Some of it is the awkward feel of silence and some of it is the urge to return their niceness, but I’m also tired and not sure how much of a point there is. Tomorrow, I’ll be back home and likely permanently grounded.

“Do you feel like we’re hovering?” Rachel’s question takes me by surprise. Before I can instinctually tell them that they’re both fine, she continues, “We can give you some space if you want. I know it’s a little overwhelming.”

What is? Showing up here? The accident? It shouldn’t matter considering that I’m leaving tomorrow. “Some quiet might be nice,” I admit, “Just because Dick’s probably going to show up and get me to--” He never did specify what he was going to check out about me. Do they know that’s why I’m here? Also--why are they here? “I don’t even know. Just something I’m not really looking forward to.”

“We get it,” Rachel hums, stepping away from the counter, “We’ll give you a minute.”

The two actually leave, a part of me is surprised at how genuine that was. They didn’t even linger like I might at best steal something and at worse finally snap. I get two minutes of quiet before the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen puts me back into focus mode.

I tilt my head slightly, expecting Rachel or Gar or maybe even Dick. It’s...none of them. The person I don’t know walks straight past me and towards the fridge. They open it, the small light illuminating their skin in a way that makes the sheen of sweat impossible to ignore.

He pulls out a bottle of water, shuts the door, and then looks at me. There’s no hint of surprise as his eyes briefly focus on my face before trailing downwards. Is he-- “Something happen to your face?”

This again. Stupid car accident had to bust my lip and bruise my face. “Uh--” While Rachel and Gar were attentive and purposefully polite, trying to apply regular social standards to an abnormal situation, this guy doesn’t seem to care about that at all. The thought of just blankly stating the car accident thing again, especially to someone this forward, is so unappealing I just blurt out, “Drug deal gone wrong.”

Oh my god, the more I interact with people, the more I realize there has to be something seriously wrong with me. Like brain damage. Like over-40-pro-football player lever of concussed.

Before I can say anything, he tilts his head again, looking me over more openly than before, "Right, because you seem the type.”

I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or amused. Probably the first one. “The best drug dealers don’t seem like drug dealers.”

“Really?” There’s a level of kind-of-there annoyance that throws me. Like irritated is his natural state and it’s miracle enough that I didn’t make it worse. But the confidence in his voice keeps it from being fully bitter.

“No,” I tap my nails on the counter, “I just didn’t feel like getting into the car accident thing again.”

He’s quiet for a second, “And you thought drug deals would be easier?”

I shrug, feeling a little smaller. I can’t tell if I can’t stand him or think he’s a little funny. “Must be an early sign of brain damage.”

He tilts his water bottle in a vague gesture towards my face. “I’d believe it.”

Rude. I know I just said it, but still. “At least I have an excuse.”

His eyebrows draw together in offense, and it doesn’t make me feel great. He wasn’t that bad and that was sort of a jump, but I’ll probably never see him again, so...

“What’s your--”

Before he can get into any sort of rant, a voice cuts him off, “Jason.” Oh, it’s Dick. I turn my head enough to catch his tense look. “Leave her alone.”

“She started it.”

Okay, yeah, I think he annoys me more than I find him funny. “Nice come back,” I mumble, pushing away from the counter, “What are you? 12?”

“If you want to find out--”

Ah. I’ve been through too much today for this. "Like that line’s ever worked.”

He isn’t swayed by my reaction, “Trust me, I don’t need--”

“Okay,” Dick inserts himself into the conversation, and a part of me is glad for the excuse to leave. “Enough.” He then looks at me, “Are you ready?”

At least it’ll be over soon. “As long as you don’t tell me that stuff turned me part alien or whatever.”

He draws his eyebrows together, “Part alien?”

“So magical science goo is real, but my thing’s unrealistic.”

#dc titans #titans show #titans x reader #dick grayson #jason todd x reader #jason todd #redhood #redhood x reader #gar logan #rachel roth

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